The Show Must Go On
by BritKit
Summary: My short story for creative writing featuring sort-of-original characters based in the FMA world with cameo appearances by Duo from GW and Peach from the 'so you want to be a wizard' series.


BK: to explain. Will, Yoru, Illario and Brad are what I call sort-of-original-characters. In my lovely little fantasy world that exists only in my head, this explaination makes sense. I apologise if it doesnt to you. Will is Envy, as he should have been, as a human. He looks EXACTLY like Ed, only with longer hair and brown eyes. (oh, and he has all his limbs). He is hoenheim's son from back when hoenheim was in Cselkcess (loooooooong story). A lot about Will was skipped in this story b/c I couldnt really put magic in it cause then the plot wouldn't have worked. He's a healer. And he knows about Ed and Al, but is not allowed to contact them.

Yoru is Greed. The old Greed. Again, as he should have been as human, and yes I know I changed the hair color.

Illario is anime-wrath, aka Izumi's kid. he's about 12 or 13, whereas the others are closer to 17 or 18, at least physically.

Brad is, guess who, King bradly aka pride/wrath (depending on anime vs manga), with glasses and AGAIN as he should have been.

and yes I do know its kinda bizzare to have all of them doing ballet and Will and Illario dancing girls parts. My mind is a very very strange place.

The Show Must Go On

The room was empty when he walked in. Empty and silent. He dropped his bag to the floor and idly tugged the tie from his hair. It fell across his shoulders as he crossed the room. Light glimmered, reflected from the mirrored wall, the sharp smell of rosin mixed with the air. His foot falls were quiet, slow. He ran a hand through his hair, front to back, then flipped over and back to smooth his hair into a messy bun at the base of his neck.

He hit the power button on the stereo, it hummed to life and he padded back across the room, fingers skimming along the wooden barre on the back wall, to rifle through his bag. Shoes were toed off as slim fingers dug around ribbons, satin, canvas and cloth to take purchase on a thin plastic case. It was drawn out of the bag, opened, and a CD taken out. The case was dropped back in the bag and he returned to the stereo, brushing stray strands of hair behind his ear as he did so.

The music started. He walked around the room a bit, reveling in the quiet, the emptiness, rolling his head around his shoulders. As he reached the bag again, his sweatshirt was shrugged off, and dropped to the floor. He ran his hands over slim shoulders and a delicate neck. The music thrummed in the background. He dug through the bag again, and then sat on the floor to pull canvas slippers over bare feet, one at a time. There were holes where the outer canvas had peeled away, and the entirety of the shoe was dingy and worn. He adjusted the crossed elastic straps and stood, rolling through his feet.

He moved to the center of the room, his steps making shush-shushing sounds to accompany the music. Black, Capri-length cloth pants with drawstrings round mid-calf encased gentle, strong limbs, a sleeveless white shirt that laced up the back on top. He turned to face the mirrors, again tucked away those damned strands of hair, and paused.

And began to dance.

"Will."

The voice startled him, and he stumbled out of the turn to look over at the doorway. Another boy stood there. Short, spiky auburn hair, brushed away from a face that looked more accustomed to a mischievous expression then the calm one it wore. Dark eyes. A loose, hooded sweatshirt hid strong arms and shoulders. Legs were covered by black sweatpants, bagging at the hems around battered white sneakers. A black duffel bag dropped to the floor with a thwump.

"Yoru." Will relaxed his stance, bringing hands up to poke and tug at his now-mussed hair. He pulled the tie out and the blond strands tumbled down over sweaty shoulders. "You're early."

"No," the other boy corrected him, voice muffled by the sweatshirt he was pulling over his head. "You've just been here for hours and hours. There's only twenty minutes till Peach gets here." A huff of breath and the sweatshirt joined the two bags on the floor.

Will blinked. The CD continued in the background. "Really?"

Yoru sat on the floor gracelessly, and began to tug at the ties of his shoes. "Really, really. What time did you get up, anyways - and if it's before seven, I don't want to hear it," he continued when Will opened his mouth. Will frowned and propped his hands on his hips.

"Then why did you ask in the first place?" He said irritably.

Yoru shrugged and pulled his shoe off. "Dunno. You're ridiculous though. I swear, you give a whole new meaning to those 'Eat, sleep, dance' t-shirts. As a matter of fact," Yoru shot Will a sly glance, "I'm willing to bet you didn't even have breakfast."

Will dragged a hand through his hair and lifted his chin a touch. "I did too."

Yoru succeeded in getting off his remaining shoe and unzipped his bag. "Liar." Will glared at him and stalked over to his own duffel, dropping down beside it.

"Did you come here _just_ to annoy me?" He asked, yanking off the canvas shoes and digging through his bag once more.

"No," said Yoru, voice completely serious. "It's a major plus, though." He tilted his head to the side as a well-roughened pointe shoe sailed over his right shoulder to clatter to the wooden floor behind him. "We have rehearsal, remember?" Yoru glanced back at the shoe, and then at Will. "You're going to need that."

Will tied the knot in the satin ribbons of the other pointe shoe, and tucked the tails on the inside of his ankle. "I'm aware of that, thank you."

Yoru got up and stretched, rolling through his feet, adjusting the straps of the black canvas shoes. He moved to the barre and began to warm up, amusement written along every line of his body. Will let out a low growl of frustration, clomped over to his other shoe, and sat down again to put it on. When finished, he stood, rose _en pointe_ and walked over to the stereo.

The music abruptly stopped.

The silence was filled with the quiet shushing sounds of Yoru's shoes, and clicks as Will flicked through he CD collection. He eventually selected a CD, and placed it the the player, skipping over several songs. When he hit play, graceful music tumbled from the speakers to fill every corner of the room, and Will moved into the steps, jumps and turns of Odile's variation from Swan Lake. Yoru watched from the side, leaned against the barre, waiting. The music rose, and he stepped away from the wall to take Prince Sigfried's part in the _pas de deus_. They danced together, separate, together, then separate again, as Will moved to take center, paused, and began.

_One. _

_Two._

_Three._

The music was everywhere, he'd always preferred it loud, yet he could still hear his breathing, harsh, and the rasp of his pointe shoes against the floor as he turned.

_Ten._

_Eleven._

_Twelve._

Spotting. Extremely important. Have to remember. Find your eyes in the mirror or you'll get dizzy. Find them. Find them.

_Seventeen. _

_Eighteen._

_Nineteen._

Over halfway now, the music sped up. He could feel the sweat collecting on his back and neck, cold from the constant rushing of air over it.

_Twenty four._

_Twenty five._

_Twenty six._

Almost. Almost. Leg burning, keep over the center of your balance, don't get lazy it will just make things worse. Point the toe.

_Twenty nine._

_Thirty._

_Thirty one._

_Thirty two_- yes! Leg extends, right up the side and his toes kiss the tips of his fingers, stretched above his head. Come down, step, step, keep the smile, keep the grace, keep the _character. _Music races, building, almost over. Hit center, Prince to one knee, grab the hand, _tendu_ to the back and arch!

Sultry. Victorious. Triumph.

The silence caused by the stopped music was short-lived. Within seconds, murmured conversations had been struck up across the room. Dancers lined up in clumps; talking, going over steps. One, with a long braid all the way down his back, slid down the mirror to sit on the floor and announced to a younger, black-haired boy with a long ponytail that he was _never_ getting up again. The other boy laughed. Yoru leaned on the barre, head resting on the wall, breathing hard. Will pressed a water bottle to his chest (which he took) and then took a long drink from his own.

"I don't know _how_ you do it," Yoru groaned, opening the water bottle.

Will swallowed and shook a few strands of hair out of his eyes. "Do what?"

"Dance the way you do," Yoru took a gulp of water and gasped. "We've got two hours of ballet each day, then an hour of jazz, modern, tap, stretch and strength, ballroom, or street dance afterwards. You do a half hour of pointe five days a week, plus, with the show coming up, we've got rehearsals six days a week, for an hour at least, more often two, yet you still come in early and stay late, sometimes for more than an hour each time. That's..." Yoru made a quick count on his fingers," roughly five and a half hours Monday through Saturday, not counting what you do on your own. It's insanity!"

Will took another swallow of water. "If you're quite finished?"

Yoru glared, and shook his water bottle at Will. "I should dump this on you."

Will eyed the half full bottle. "Please do." Yoru thumped him on the head with it and he yelped and edged away. "Hey!"

"Oh, you _deserved_ that one."

"I did not!"

"Trouble in paradise, my dears? Yoru, don't hit Will with a water bottle, we can't have him injured." A taller boy with slicked back black hair and slim-framed glasses came up behind Will.

"My knight in shining armor," Will said wryly.

"Wait until after the performance," the boy continued.

"Or not," Will sighed. "Hi, Brad."

"And how is my black swan this fine Saturday morning?" Will elbowed him and Brad grinned, dodging.

"I'm fine."

"Meaning 'insane as ever'," Yoru grumbled. "Why can't I smack him if he deserves it again?"

"Because, Yoru, if Will can't dance Odile, we'll have to make Illario do it, and the resulting explosion would not be pretty." Brad gestured towards the mirrors, where the young black-haired boy attempted to cajole the braided one off the floor.

"Mm..." Yoru said idly. "That's true. So, after the performance, I can beat him up all I want?"

Brad nodded. "Yeah, basically."

Will glared at them both, and then rounded on Yoru. "D'you want me to throw this at you?" he demanded, shaking the water bottle. Yoru waved him off.

"I'm just kidding, blondie-"

"Don't call me that!"

"- and you can't throw worth shi- ow!" A well aimed kick reminded Yoru that their teacher was only a few feet away. "- shite anyways."

Will sat down on the floor with a groan and stretched out his legs. "Humor me." He rolled through his ankles, wincing a bit.

"Alright, everyone!" Peach turned from the stereo and strode to the center of the room. "Let's take it from the start of Act II!"

An hour later, Peach was reading his notes from the run through. "Brad - you need more during your solo, you're there to charm the pants off the Queen and court, save the evil sadistic parts for later."

"But I _like_ being all evil and sadistic," Brad muttered. Someone shushed him.

"Duo," Peach continued, "pick up the pace on that one set of turns- "

"The _chene's_?"

"Yes, you were off the music. Illario, good entrance, but don't use your arms quite so much, try to add in your torso more."

The black haired boy nodded, and lifted his ponytail up to fan the back of his neck. "Okay."

"Yoru, Will, that was much better then yesterday, remember not to let the energy drop after Will's _fouettes_, you've still a chunk of the _pas de dues_ to do."

Will shifted his weight to his left foot, winced, and shifted it back. "Alright." Beside him, Yoru nodded.

Peach flipped through a few more papers, and neatened them into a pile. "I believe that's it. Dismissed."

Instantly, the air was filled with chatter and sighs as the crowed moved from the studio into the dressing room. Will collapsed onto a bench with a groan and bent down to undo the ribbons on his pointe shoes. Yoru came over and looked him over carefully. Will slid his shoes off and dropped them into his bag. "What?"

Yoru shrugged the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder. "You alright?"

Will crossed his left leg over his right and rubbed the ankle a bit. "Fine, why?"

Yoru's eyes were unreadable. "You look a bit run down."

Will rotated the ankle, wincing. "Rehearsal was rough, that's all. And I need to get more sleep."

Yoru gestured to Will's ankle. "Did you do something to it?"

Will put his foot back on the floor and tested some weight on it. Then he shook his head. "Just sore, I think."

"Well, take it easy tomorrow. You don't want it to get worse."

Will slid on his 'street shoes' and stood. "I'll soak it later."

There was a shriek of laughter and an indecipherable yell, and then the braided boy shot through the doorway, a huge grin on his face. "Hi guys!"

"Hi, Duo," Will and Yoru chorused. Duo ran through another doorway out into the hall, cackling as he went. "Bye, Duo," said Yoru dryly, and Will snickered. As they moved into the hall, they paused briefly for Will to zip up his bag, and then Illario ran out of the dressing room, cheeks beet red, black hair sopping wet and dripping down his back.

"Hey have you- ?" They both pointed to the right. " - Thanks." Illario raced off and Will shifted the strap of his bag.

"Shall we wait for Brad to find out what happened?" he asked.

"We shall," said Yoru solemnly. "Though I can guess."

Shortly after that Brad stepped out of the dressing room, took one look at their expectant faces and said "Duo upended his water bottle all over Illario and then ran."

"That explains the wet hair," said Will, and they started down the hall.

"We have two weeks. Two weeks to get this show perfect." The dancers were all sitting on the floor of the studio, watching as Peach walked back and forth in front of the mirrors. "You've all been working very, very hard, and I'm glad of that. However, we can't get lazy. We're a small group and people are hard to replace. We don't have understudies so I need all of you, especially the leads, to be careful. No pulling stupid stunts in gymnastics or roughhousing with your friends, even bruises can pose a problem." Peach stopped pacing and turned to face the group. "Everyone clear?"

"Yes."

"Then let's begin class."

Will gritted his teeth as they moved from barre to center work. They did jump combinations in groups and after each ended his ankle throbbed harder. Stumbling a bit after the traveling set, he leaned on the barre and rubbed at his ankle. The music instantly stopped.

"What did you do?" Will's head shot up as Peach strode over from the stereo frowning. He immediately put the foot back down and stood up straight.

"Nothing! I'm fine."

Peach dropped to the floor to stare intently at Will's ankles. "Don't give me that. Which one's hurting?"

"Well, my left, a bit, but I don't know what - ow!"

"It's swollen," said Peach with a grim expression, pulling his hand back. "When did this start?"

"It's _just _a little sore - "

Yoru came to stand next to Peach. "Yesterday he mentioned it was sore after class." He turned to Will. "I thought you said you were going to take it easy!"

"I did!" Will protested. "Honestly, I'm alright!"

Peach stood. "Duo, go to the dressing room and put Will's bag together." Duo ran off, and Peach turned to Yoru. "Did you see him do anything yesterday that could have caused an injury? You were with him before rehearsal."

"I am not-" Will started to say, but Peach shot him a shut-up-now-or-regret-it glare, and he opted to pout instead.

"I wasn't there the whole time he was dancing," Yoru admitted. "He'd been at it for at least an hour when I came in."

"Came in and scared me half to death," Will grumbled.

Yoru winced. "Yeah, sorry about that." Then he froze. "Oh, shit."

"Yoru!" Peach said sharply. "Language!"

"No, no, no, I think I know how Will hurt his ankle."

"For the millionth time," said Will loudly. "I have not hurt my ankle!"

"Yes, you have," chorused half the dancers.

"But -"

"Shut it, Will," said Peach tartly. "Yoru, continue."

"Well, when I came in yesterday, I didn't mean to surprise him, that was an accident - "

Duo ran into the center of the group."I got his bag."

"Thank you. Here, I'll take it." Peach gestured for Yoru to go on.

"When I came in, he was in the middle of a turn. I said his name and he kinda stumbled out of it," Yoru's words became rushed as he tried to get out the whole explanation. "And then we practiced and he did thirty two turns on that ankle..."

"I think I see where this is going," Peach said firmly. "Yoru, grab your things and then help Will to the medical wing." Yoru headed towards the dressing room at a run.

"This is completely unnecessary, Peach, I can get to the medical wing on my own," Will insisted. "My ankle is perfectly fine!"

"Well, Mr. van Hoenheim, you've managed to injure your ankle pretty badly," the doctor remarked. Yoru sent Will a pointed I-told-you-so look from across the room. "When did you sustain the injury?"

"Yesterday morning," said Will quietly, fingering the white sheets of the exam bed he was sitting on. Light streamed from arched windows into a large airy room with beds sectioned off by curtains. Will had sat on one of these while the school doctor inspected his ankle, and Yoru settled himself on a chair, putting their bags down beside him.

"Mm..." said the doctor, poking Will's ankle. "And for how long did you dance on it afterwards?"

Will wrinkled his nose as he did some quick math in his head. "Um...Eleven hours?'

The doctor stared."Eleven hours."

Will nodded. "Roughly." The doctor blinked a few times, and then turned to Yoru, who shrugged.

"How?" the doctor finally managed. "_Walking_ on an ankle injured like this is extremely painful, and I've seen some of the things you dancers do. How on earth can you not have realized you were injured?"

"Dance is pain," Yoru quipped. "Eventually you learn to ignore it."

The doctor sighed, then stood. "Well, you're not going to be dancing for quite some time. You need to stay off that ankle for at least three weeks, possibly more. You'll need crutches for the first week and a half, and then you can walk on it, but no more. And keep what walking you do to a minimum. And absolutely _no dancing_."

"Doctor?" Will said hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"What will happen if I do dance on it?"

The doctor leaned forward and put his hands on Will's shoulders. "You have a grade two sprain, Mr. van Hoenheim. It is just shy of a grade three, which is when the ligament is completely torn, for which surgery would be necessary, the recovery long, and a high chance that you would be unable to dance ever again, due to risk of re-injury. Understand?"

Will hung his head. "Yes."

"Good. I'm going to get you an immobilizer. You'll need to wear it for a week, after which you'll be able to use an ace bandage. I'll show you how to wrap one when I get back." The doctor left, and Yoru got up to sit beside Will on the bed.

"You know what this means," he said softly.

Will lifted his head back up and flicked his hair over his shoulder. His eyes were unusually bright. "What?"

"We need to find your replacement."

"No."

Yoru dragged a hand through his hair, and sat back from the table. "But -"

"Absolutely not."

"Illario, c'mon -"

Illario stood up, and slammed his hands on the table. "I can't. Not won't, Yoru, _can't_. Don't you remember why the hell we have Will dancing Odile in the first place?"

A little ways down the table, Duo leaned over to Brad and whispered, "What's he talking about?"

"Traditionally, Odile and Odette are danced by the same person," Brad whispered back. "Will got Odile because he asked for it, and because Illario begged to not have to take it."

"Why?"

"Something about the character..."

Peach, the lead dancers in Swan Lake and a few of the other dancers were gathered at a table in the dining hall after dinner to discuss who would be taking the role of Odile. Will sat at the end of the table, not speaking, hair falling between himself and the others as a barrier. His left leg was encased in what looked like a cast from foot to knee.

"Illario," Peach said sharply. Illario turned, and his voice went from angry to pleading.

"Peach, I can't. You've got to find someone else. _Please_."

Peach looked at the table. "There is no one else. Though the steps of the variation are not terribly demanding, the energy and precision required make it extremely difficult. The only two people at that skill level are you and Will. Will is now out of the show, so you are the only option."

"But-"

"Enough." Illario fell silent, looking anguished. Peach looked up from the table to meet his eyes. "You will dance Odile. Meet me in the studio at seven tomorrow morning to begin rehearsals." He got up and left, and the rest of the dancers slowly dispersed, until only Illario, Will and Yoru were left. Yoru hesitated by Will, but Will looked up and smiled a bit, and waved him on, so he left.

The two stayed like that for a few minutes. Illario standing, staring at the table, and Will sitting down near the end. Eventually, Illario walked over to Will, and sat down on the bench, hard. "Will," he said quietly, voice shaky. "I can't do this."

"The steps aren't that hard."

Illario shook his head. "It's not the steps. It's _her. _I don't know how to..." he gestured with his hands, "...how to be her."

Will shrugged. "It's not that hard. Just be flirty, and act powerful. You flirt with half the class already, just do that."

Illario laughed, but it sounded scared. "Yeah, and then it'll be me, in a tutu, dancing on stage. That won't work, you know it won't." Illario turned to Will. "You've got to do something."

Will sighed, exasperated. "I can't just magic my ankle better. Peach will help you. Just learn the steps and-"

"_It's not the damn steps!!_" Illario yelled, standing up. Will looked at him, shocked. Illario took a deep, shaky breath, and looked down. "It's not the steps. I can do the steps. It's not the steps it's her. I can't...get into her character. I can't go from being sweet, kind Odette to being...whatever she is. I don't know how. That's why I asked Peach to get someone else to dance her in the first place." He laughed again, a weak sort of chuckle. "You... Will, you dance like there's nothing holding you down. You have no limits - maybe it's the stubborn streak or something. Me, I have limits. _And I know them._" He shook his head. "I can't do this, Will. I can't."

Will looked away. "You're just going to have to."

Will avoided the studio. He went to classes, ate, did his homework. He had never realized how much _time_ there was in a day. Normally, the days sailed by, filled with rehearsals and dance classes. Now, unable to dance, unable to even walk without the crutches for fear of doing further injury, all he could do was sit on the couch and stare at the ceiling. He was certain he knew every line, every bump of it in his sleep. He still saw the other dancers, at meals, and in classes. They were always busy, but Yoru at least tried to eat with him regularly. He saw the others less often. Illario he saw the least of all, and when he did the black-haired boy always looked torn between anger and worry. Will never asked about the rehearsals. He didn't want to hear.

It was two weeks after the doctors visit, just a few days before the performance. Will could walk fine now, the crutches were finally gone, a simple brace instead. He was to avoid stairs and anything that would require jumping. Relishing in his new freedom, Will dumped his school things in his room and headed out for a much-needed walk. It wasn't until he was standing in the doorway, watching the play of sunlight along the mirrors, the scent of rosin in the air that he realized where he;d come. Will stepped into the studio hesitantly. It was empty. Silent. The only sounds were his breathing and the tap of his sneakers on the wooden floor. It seemed sacrilegious to be walking there in normal shoes. His breathing was loud, too loud, catching slightly every time. He'd _missed_ this place. He could almost see the other dancers; Duo and Illario messing around in front of the mirrors, Yoru and Brad in that corner by the _barre_, Peach at the far wall, cursing under his breath at the stereo. Will closed his eyes and tilted his head back as the sun came through the window extra strong and bathed the whole room in shades of gold and tawny brown. Will took a gasping breath, one step, then another, then up on his toes and turn--!

Pain shot up his left leg, and with a stifled half-cry, Will crumpled to the floor to clutch at his ankle. His breathing was harsh. Short, caught, gasping breaths as he tried to calm down. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and looked to the ceiling.

"I shouldn't have come here," he said quietly, then pushed himself to his feet and all but ran from the room. He didn't stop until he'd put two floors and half a building behind him. The corridor was empty, and Will stood in the middle of it, eyes closed, taking slow, deep breaths. "I'm okay," he murmured, running hands through his hair. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm..." The crisp, bright notes of Odile and Rothbart's entrance drifted down the hall. Will froze, staring down the corridor, then hesitantly began to walk towards the sounds.

He pushed open the heavy double doors and entered the auditorium. It was dark, the plush carped aisle running down to a brightly lit stage. The seats were all empty, except for one. Peach sat three rows back, fixated on what was happening on stage. Will walked down the aisle until he stood only a row back from Peach. It was a dress rehearsal, sans costumes. The costumed dress rehearsal would be tomorrow, a full run through the day after...that made the performance only three days away. Will looked down at his left ankle, covered by pants and a tight brace. He sighed.

"Stop," called out Peach. The music cut off and Illario stepped out of his arabesque. He put his hands on his hips, turned around and growled out:

"What. Now."

Peach stood, ignoring Illario's glare. "You're not putting enough into it. The steps are perfect, but the feel is all wrong."

"And what, exactly, am I supposed to do about that?" Illario's eyes flashed, he spoke through gritted teeth. Will shifted, and backed up a bit. From the resigned and slightly irritated looks on the cast's faces, this wasn't the first time they'd had to stop.

Peach's expression was calm, he didn't appear to notice how strained Illario's hold on his temper was. "Let me rephrase. You're not putting _anything_ into it. The steps are perfect, the movement's exact, but there is no emotion from you, so there is no emotion from Odile, either. You have to _own_ the stage Illario. Odile is a diva, she won't stand for being anything less than the center of attention. You have to make the audience look at you, and only you."

Illario took a deep breath, and said with forced calm. "How."

Peach blinked, then frowned. "How what? I don't understand."

Illario's control snapped. "Well neither do I! I don't _get_ her! I've watched other people dance Odile and I have no idea how they do it! All I can do is mimic, and that isn't good enough, or at least that's what you told me the last fifty times I tried to dance this!" His cheeks were flushed, hands clenched into fists. Peach looked stunned.

"Illario - what -?"

He was cut off. "I don't understand how she works, I cant! I _told_ you when you mentioned Swan Lake that I couldn't dance Odile, because I didn't understand the character, and you said sure, sure, fine - I told you! I know my limits, Peach, and I can't go past them. _I can't do this_!" With that final yell, Illario turned on his heel and stormed off the stage. The theater was quiet for a moment, and then Yoru spoke.

"Well, that went wonderfully." He came forward and sat on the edge of the stage. "We're down an Odile and it's three days to the show. Now what?"

Peach fell back in his seat with a groan. "I have no idea. I know he said he didn't understand the character, but I though he'd be able to break through that. He's danced similar roles before."

"Yeah, but it's different this time." Duo stepped out of the _corps d'ballet_ to stand behind Yoru. "He's under pressure, and he's scared. When Illario's scared, he sticks to what he knows. He's been dancing Odette for months. Plus, he's been watching Will dance Odile practically flawless from the start." Duo shrugged. "It's a hard act to follow. Sometime when we don't have a performance and it's more low-key, then he'll be willing to come out of his shell."

"Well, bully for him," Yoru said testily. "But that doesn't help us. Even if we had another dancer at his skill level, which we don't, we'd still have to teach them the entire damn variation, and we just don't have time for that!"

"I'll do it."

Peach jumped about a food and whipped around. He hadn't noticed Will was there. Yoru's face darkened with ominous speed. "No," he said. "Absolutely not."

Peach locked eyes with Will and said softly, "Do you still know it?"

Will lifted his chin and stared steadily back. "Every step."

"Peach!" Yoru had stood. "You can't let him do this!"

Peach's eyes stayed on Will. "It's his decision."

"Will!" Yoru's voice was pleading. Will looked over to him with a wistful smile.

"I'll do it. I will dance Odile."

Will took a deep breath, feeling the bodice of his costume tighten. He stared at his feet, encased in black pointe shoes. It was intermission, the stage was being set to open on the ball. Will was sitting on a foldout chair in the wings, waiting. He'd been doing light work the past few days, stretches and warm ups mostly. Illario had watched from a distance, wide eyed and worried, Brad had hovered, and Yoru hardly spoke. Will swallowed, and shifted his left ankle. Underneath the tights was a simple support. It spoiled the line, but Yoru had insisted (loudly) and Peach had backed him up, so Will wore it. The growing chatter in the audience heralded the end of intermission. The stage hands began rushing around, pulling on ropes and hitting switches. Footsteps came up behind him.

"Hey," said Yoru quietly.

"Oh, you're talking to me now?" Will responded, still staring at his feet.

"Damn it, Will, don't you understand?" Yoru hissed, grabbing Will's shoulder and shaking him. "This could _end_ your dancing career!"

"It's just one performance."

"Thirty two turns on an injured ankle is not 'just' anything," Yoru snapped. One of the stage hands shushed him and he continued, quieter. "This could cause irreversible damage. How are you even going to do the variation? The pain..."

Will looked over his shoulder at Yoru, a wry smile on his face. "Dance is pain, eventually you learn to ignore it."

The orchestra struck up the overture and the stage manager called out "Places!"

"Will," Yoru gripped Will's shoulder, voice desperate, "you don't have to do this. You don't."

Will stood, and shook off Yoru's hand. He stood tall, gracefull, and turned to face Yoru. "The show must go on," he said simply, then walked away. He picked his way around chairs and pieces of set to the corridor behind the stage, that connected the two wings. There was a large set of double doors, closed now, where Odile and Rothbart were supposed to enter the ball. Brad was waiting there, watching him with worried eyes.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"I will be." Will stepped over one more beam and took his beginning pose. His ankle throbbed warningly. Will gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He could remember, years ago, listening to Peach talk about dancing a part.

_Since ballet has no words, you have to work even harder to express the character. Every move you make on that stage, every look, none of it can be yours. It all had to be theirs. Their thoughts, their feelings, their story. Not yours. Every time you step out onto a stage, leave yourself in the wings. Whenever you're in front of an audience, you must __**be**__ your character. _

Will took a deep breath. He had to work through this. He was a dancer, and there was an audience in front of him. _Leave yourself in the wings_. Leave it all behind. The two weeks without practice, the unfamiliar shoes. The sprained ankle. Leave it behind. You must _be_ your character. You must be --

The doors opened. Will opened his eyes.

_Odile._

Peach sat orchestra center, five rows back, a clipboard on his lap, as the other audience members milled around him. The lights dimmed, rose again, and people began to return to their seats. A few more minutes and the lights faded out,a nd the curtain went up. The ball began. Peach propped his elbow on the armrest and worried his thumbnail with his teeth. The doors at the back of the stage swung open. There stood Rothbart, Odile on his arm. Will stood tall and challenging, a sultry smile on his face. They came down the steps. Peach closed his eyes, sent a brief, general "please" prayer to anyone who might be listening, and the _pas de deus_ began. Will danced exquisitely. Every step was precise, every move a demand. Yoru went into Prince Sigfried's solo, and Will prepared for the _fouettes_. Peach bit into the edge of his thumb until he tasted blood. _Please_.

Will landed it.

He and Yoru hit the ending pose, and the orchestra paused. There was a moment of completely silence, and then, as one, the audience roared its approval. Peach, focused on Odile's feet, instead of her face, was the only one to notice the tremble in Wills left ankle. Quietly, he got out of his seat and headed backstage. He slipped through the door into the wings, just a few moments before the end of the ball. The music built, and Rothbart and Odile made their exit. Will came running offstage, took two steps into the wings, and crumpled to the floor. Peach tossed his cell phone to Brad, who had come off stage immediately after. "Call the doctor." As Brad dialed, Peach crouched down to undo the ties of Will's pointe shoes. A few minutes later, Yoru and Illario came tumbling out of the corridor that lead behind the stage, having just made their own exits. Illario took one look at Will, let out a muffled whimper, and dropped to the ground. Peach stood up, and gestured to two of the stage hands. "Get him in his dressing room." They did so, carrying Will out of the wings and disappearing down a hallway. Peach walked over to where Illario was kneeling on the floor, eyes wide. "Get up," he said softly. "You have a show to finish." Illario closed his eyes briefly, nodded, and got to his feet. Peach took his phone back from Brad, and headed to the ticket booth to meet the doctor.

His ankle was cold. That was the first thing Will noticed. He opened his eyes. He was in his dressing room, laid out on a cot, out of costume with his leg elevated and about a pound of ice on his left ankle. Yoru was sitting next to him. Will swallowed, coughed, and croaked out "What happened?" Yoru grabbed him a water bottle and said:

"You danced it. Perfectly, too. Probably the best anyone has ever seen. Then you got about two steps backstage and collapsed. Some of the stage hands brought you here." Will drank, and Yoru fiddled with the water bottle cap. "They gave you a standing ovation, you know."

"Huh?"

"During the bows, Peach came on stage and said that Odie would not be taking a bow this evening because the dancer was recuperating from doing the entire variation with a sprained ankle. Some people had been standing up before. After Peach finished, they all got to their feet."

Will shifted against the mattress and closed his eyes. "Oh."

Yoru watched him, eyes blank. "That was really dumb," he said quietly.

"I know."

"You shouldn't have done it."

"I know."

"The doctor said you'll need surgery." Yoru closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You may never be able to dance again."

Will's voice was barely a whisper. "I know." The dressing room was quiet for a minute, and then Yoru spoke again.

"Was it worth it?"

Will didn't answer. Yoru took the water bottle back, put the cap on and set it aside. "I'll go get Peach. He wanted to talk to you." Will nodded, staring at the ceiling. Yoru got up and slipped out the door. Behind him, Will draped one arm over his eyes and quietly began to cry.

Peach was reading. Brad had engaged Duo in an extended game of hangman. Illario paced. Yoru stared at the closed door, unmoving. Peach turned a page and glanced at Yoru. "Staring isn't going to make the exam go any faster." Yoru didn't answer. It was two weeks after the preformance. Will had gone in for ankle surgery the day after, and had been on strict bed rest since. The whole group had accompanied him to the doctors for the checkup exam on his ankle. The door opened and Will's doctor stepped out into the hallway. Instantly, every eye focused on him. The doctor took a step back, in surprise, then smiled.

"It's a bit early, but...If he continues healing without complications, Mr. van Hoenheim should make a compete recovery." Duo let out a whoop of joy, grabbed Illario and the two started dancing around the hallway, laughing. Brad grinned, and both Yoru and Peach let out sighs of relief, and relaxed. The doctor dodged Duo and Illario, then pulled a chair over and sat down. "It's going to be slow and very long, and he'll have to do therapy before returning to dance, but eventually I believe he will regain his former skill and flexibility."

"That's incredible," Yoru murmured. "How?"

"There are a few things," said the doctor, leaning back. "First of all, Mr. van Hoenheim is young, and in excellent condition, so that will aid his healing process. Also, initially, your school doctor kept him on crutches and in the sturdier brace for longer than was strictly necessary." The doctor gave a rueful laugh. "I doubt he was expecting Mr. van Hoenheim to attempt anything like a performance, but he probably guessed that he'd be pushing himself to soon, and tried to give his ankle some extra time. Not to mention," the doctor looked over at Yoru," had he not been wearing that brace dancing, light as it was, I think I'd be giving you a very different diagnosis."

Yoru smiled slightly, then got to his feet. "I'm gonna go talk to him." He disappeared through the doorway.

Will was lying on a hospital bed, left pant leg rolled up, a brace on his ankle. He was grinning for the first time in weeks, cheeks flushed, his hair curling around his shoulders. Yoru paused at the end of the bed and crossed his arms. "Complete recovery, huh?"

Will's grin got wider. "So they say."

Yoru shook his head. "You and that damn stubborn streak. Even if they said you'd never dance again, you'd be back in that studio proving them wrong, wouldn't you?" Will laughed. Sunlight streamed in the hospital window, filling the room with gold and shimmering in Will's hair. Will turned his face into the sun and closed his eyes, relishing. Yoru watched him, and after a few moments, spoke. "Was it worth it?"

Will turned towards him, opening his eyes. "Hmm?"

"Was it worth it?" Yoru repeated.

Will settled back against the pillows and smiled softly at Yoru. "It's always worth it."

_Fin_


End file.
